


Wild Wendy

by Northwest_Passage



Category: Cars (Movies), Planes (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2014-11-19
Packaged: 2018-02-26 06:29:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2641574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northwest_Passage/pseuds/Northwest_Passage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A WoC/Planes fic mainly concerning one of the supporting characters of Planes and some OC's. Bravo, under doctor's orders, must take shore duty until he recovers fully from an injury sustained during a mission. Joining a "military mentor" program to counsel troubled teens sounds like interesting work, but can he make a difference to an angry, half-breed fighter girl?</p>
<p>AND NOW FOR THAT DISCLAIMER BIT: I don't own any canon characters in this universe. They belong to Disney/Pixar. Weese be makin' no money offa dis!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pt. 1

Glencombe was a small airport community located in the middle of the Alaskan Panhandle, about hopping distance from Juneau. Perhaps 1200 aircraft and associated vehicles called it home. It had the usual collection of residential and commercial hangars, a few stores, a diner and a small admin center with some pathetic, weathered structure which should have been arrested for attempting to impersonate a control tower. But what really made Glencombe the punchline of local humor was that it was the location of one of the most notorious facilities for "juvenile aircraft offenders" on the west coast. If there was an adolescent in trouble with the law, and they had wings or rotors, it was entirely possible that they'd end up cooling their engines at Glencombe Youth Correctional Facility.

On this Monday, two pitties glided down the aisles of the long hangar section marked as "D Wing." One of them was a veteran, the chief correctional officer for the section, the other a new guard. The chief introduced the rookie, in turn, to the kleptomanic Dash-8, the young warbird with poor impulse control, the Cessna kid who'd been caught dealing illegal substances, and the Sikorsky S-76 who majored in drug addiction, chronic truancy and pathological lying, not to mention being "patient zero" for at least two outbreaks of diseases that, back in the day, would have been delicately referred to as "social". By now, the new guard was sure that he was seeing it all... until a shrill stream of curses from down the aisle broke the sullen silence.

The newbie froze in place for a beat or two. "Who's that, Chief?"

"Wendy again." his superior rolled his eyes in a world-weary fashion. "With that mouth on her, she'd make a hell of a drill instructor if she ever straightened out. But that's as likely as a steamroller winning the Piston Cup. We'll see her in a second." The older pitty cracked a wry grin. "Just brace yourself."

The rookie looked to where the chief's tine was pointing - and his mouth went slightly dry at the sight of a stall enclosed on all four sides with thick steel mesh, with netting on the inside. But all that didn't stop the furious occupant from grating the basket of her muzzle - yes, a _muzzle_ \- against the front bars of her lockup as she loosed another torrent of profanity for the benefit of their ear-panels. There was an impression of wild grey-green eyes over the distressed yellow paint of the muzzle, which struck sparks as its wearer dragged it across the bars another time.

"Good morning, Wendy." the chief guard sighed in a half-resigned fashion. "I see you aren't too happy right now."

"Go **** yourself, old man." she growled, pulling back at last. The new pitty took his breath in sharply as he got a full view of her through the bars - a fast, twin-engined mil-type jet in a natural camo pattern of slate blue, grey and white. He would have taken her for a legacy Hornet at first glance, but the angled tops and straight-up configuration of the twin tails suggested a Russkie in her genetic woodpile. Had some F-18 taken up with a Fulcrum and got themselves this prize? In the years after the Cold War's end, it was definitely possible.

"Watch it, son." the chief cautioned. "We got her muzzled and booted for a reason. Little Wendy here's bitten just about everybody in the wing, and the last time she made a break for it, took three relays of fighters from the National Guard and our neighbors in Canada to wear her out. She's fast as hell and has the range of a jetliner. Too bad her parents left her to the wonders of foster care, any kid would hate the world after getting bounced around in that system."

"What are they going to do with her here?" the newbie backed off by degrees, feeling the white-hot fury emanating from Wendy's cage.

"I have no idea." the veteran sighed. "But damn, what a waste." he turned and beckoned the rookie to follow. "Let's go on." As they departed, Wendy took a few more parting shots, mostly graphic speculations on the circumstances under which her warders were conceived, and what their parents should have done as an alternative to allowing conception to occur.


	2. Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A WoC/Planes fic mainly concerning one of the supporting characters of Planes and some OC's. Bravo, under doctor's orders, must take shore duty until he recovers fully from an injury sustained during a mission. Joining a "military mentor" program to counsel troubled teens sounds like interesting work, but can he make a difference to an angry, half-breed fighter girl?
> 
> AND NOW THAT DISCLAIMER BIT: I don't own any canon characters. They belong to Disney/Pixar. Weesa be makin' no money offa dis!

The fighter wasn't used to the feeling of resignation. It felt all wrong to him, yet here it was. The doctor's report lay on the low table between him and his plane captain, a normally taciturn pitty known to the rest of the crew as "Dutch". But Dutch was talking now, and his tone sounded as unhappy as the jet now felt.  
  
"That's what he said, Bravo." the pitty shrugged and sighed. "The repairs are made, but it'll take at least six months for them to set properly and for the frame to heal around them. That means no cat and no wire for that time. Sorry I don't have some better news for you right now."   
  
"S'OK, Dutch." The part-bred Hornet settled on his shocks, elevators drooping. "But what am I supposed to do until we get to port? Last place I want to be is sitting on my tail, down here, when everybody else is on deck or out." Bravo's eyes shifted towards the rest of the now partly-empty hangar deck. Echo was away, having been paired with one of the newbies for the interim. Which was all well and good, as the newly nicknamed "Peach" would benefit from flying at the side of a veteran, but the depressing feeling of letting one's wingman down was something Bravo could not help.   
  
"Well, it'd be a good time to catch up on paperwork, anyway." Dutch half-joked. Everything was pretty much caught up with.   
  
Bravo hiked up, snorting explosively in frustration. It carried through the hangar deck like a pistol shot, causing the other occupants to look back in varying degrees of bemusement or annoyance. In the case of one Hawkeye, who had been on patrol all last night, extreme annoyance as she woke up and shot a bleary stinkeye in Bravo's direction. He responded with a tight, apologetic grin.   
  
"Anyway... we could see if anyone else needs help with it." Dutch shrugged again. "Otherwise, you'd be best advised to take it easy. By the time we make port, they'll probably have a nice temporary shore posting lined up for you."   
  
Bravo rocked back slightly. Sprains happened. Torn struts happened. When both happened at once, during a series of high-G loops and turns under gale-force winds, he was lucky to come back and land in one piece, let alone on a black-*** night with twenty-foot swells pitching the boat. The LSO and the air boss had been almost amazed. Very little amazed those guys.   
  
"Fine." he huffed at last. "As long as I'm not sitting behind a desk for six months."   
  
*******  
  
"Lt.-Commander Hall?" the Cessna Caravan woman smiled as she approached him on the airport apron. "Welcome to Glencombe. I'm Karen Owens, I'm the assistant administrator at the youth facility. First of all,  thank you very much for taking part in this program."   
  
"Glad to be of help, Ms. Owens." the Hornet mix smiled. "I had the option, and it looks to be more interesting than desk duty anyway."   
  
"It can be very challenging," the Cessna rolled alongside. "But for me, working with these kids has been very rewarding. I'm happy to say that our rate of recidivism has gone down eight percent in the last three years." Her smile dropped a little. "But more would always be better. If this military mentor program helps even one child, it would be worth it."   
  
Ahead of them, beyond two layers of twelve-foot chain-link fence and a double gate, the austere, far-flung complex of "the facility" lay. Its occupants were visible in the exercise yards, some already sniffing the air as they detected a newcomer. Many of them were hardly "children", but well-grown adolescents who cast wary eyes on the vice-admin as she escorted the jet through the checkpoints. Some, however, rose on their gear and whispered to their companions as they lay their eyes on a real fighter.  
  
"The director and some of the board members are waiting for us." Karen drew his attention back. "And there'll be a few other people to meet and things to go over before you get started. You'll have a lot of support; we're not going to just throw you to the wolfbikes here."   
  
"Good." the fighter replied laconically. "Anything else I should know, Ms. Owens?"   
"We can go over that at the office." the prop plane answered. "And you can just call me Karen. What would you rather go by?"    
  
"Oh..just "Bravo." That'll do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Cat" and "Wire" refer, in order, to the catapult that launches aircraft off the carrier, and the arresting wires that they catch by the tailhook when they land. Both place considerable strains on an aircraft during its operational life. In real life, this is rather hard on the pilots as well. 
> 
> A Plane Captain, in a Navy context, is the mechanic in charge of the care and maintenance of a particular aircraft. They practically live with their high-powered and very expensive charges. 
> 
> LSO is "Landing Signals Officer" 
> 
> The Air Boss is the one in charge of all flight operations on the carrier's top deck.

**Author's Note:**

> This was sort of inspired by a Rick Gore horse video showing a horse that had been confined too long in his stall, with sad results. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CUEdhkbaSqQ


End file.
